You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts; And when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart you live in your lips, and sound is a diversion and a pastime. And in much of your talking, thinking is half murdered.
Make me, oh God, the prey of the Lion, ere you make the rabbit my prey
A teacher can only lead you to the threshold of your own mind.
Sadness is but a wall between two gardens.
Lovers embrace that which is between them rather than each other.
What of the old serpent who cannot shed his skin, and calls all others naked and shameless?